


Tall and Handsome

by hit_the_books



Series: Seraph Books [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Betaed, Bisexual Sam, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Hurt Sam, First Dates, Gaslighting, Hugs, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Suicide Attempt, References to Dead Characters Who are Dead in Canon, Supernatural Books Exist, Writer Chuck Shurley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 00:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7913404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hit_the_books/pseuds/hit_the_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chuck is smitten with a new customer who has recently started frequenting his bookstore-cafe. But when Chuck starts getting to know Sam Winchester, he finds a man in desperate need of being understood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tall and Handsome

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [round 2 of the SPN Rare Ships Creation Challenge](http://rareshipcreationschallenge.tumblr.com/tagged/round%20two). My prompt was the music video [If Only You Could See by Tonic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sfg6-4mBs6Y). My partner was [posingasme](http://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme).
> 
> Thanks to [A_Diamond for being my beta on this](http://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Diamond).
> 
> This fic is not intended to glorify the issues depicted. The rape/non-con is referenced in dialogue and is not depicted, the same with the suicide.

The bell by the door tinkles and Chuck Shurley looks up to see “tall guy with amazing chestnut hair you could hold onto, and soulful hazel eyes” walk into his secondhand bookstore-slash-cafe for the third time this week. The third time of being his first customer. It’s the red flannel today, tapering down to jeans. Keeping himself in check, Chuck waits patiently by the register, resisting the urge to check his curling, dark brown hair is just so.

Any cool Chuck may have built up since this stranger started coming would be undone if he started petting himself in public view while staring into the chrome side of the espresso machine. _Damnit, why’d I wear the green hoodie?_ Chuck thinks lamely as he looks at himself in the side of the espresso machine, berating himself for his worn, though clean, blue t-shirt and well loved blue, stone washed jeans.

Trying his best not to stare, Chuck continues to wait, poised to make a fresh vanilla latte for the stranger, like he’d done the other two times this week. Chuck tries to guess what the hot stranger will buy today—snatching glimpses of the guy’s head peeking out above the shelves—and devour in front of him. He’s near the philosophy and cultural studies section, so maybe some Derrida? Or Butler? _Hmmm, classic literature is behind him, maybe he’ll go for_ —the guy turns— _yep he’s going for fiction again._

A library lurks a few blocks over, but they don’t offer the kind of cosy reading environment where you can buy some good coffee with cookies, or cake or a sandwich alongside books, that you are then free to write in. Clearing up tall and handsome’s table these past few days has shown Chuck that the guy is a prolific writing in the margins type. Every book he buys, he sits with for hours, reading and scribbling into with a number two pencil.

There is no way of knowing if the guy is a student at the University of Kansas campus or just loves literature. Though Chuck keeps finding himself wondering just what the guy looks like under the long sleeved plaid shirts and t-shirts he likes wearing even though it’s late summer and on the uncomfortable side of warm past the aged brickwork of Chuck’s store-cafe. Seraph Books has adequate air conditioning, but Chuck keeps considering what would happen if he let the temperature raise just that tiny bit more.

Eying the thermostat and then glancing to the gorgeous giant, Chuck decides he couldn’t do it to him. He only comes up to the guy’s shoulders, who knows what he would do to Chuck if he discovered that he’d made it warmer. _Maybe he’d, mmm, yes,_ Chuck pictures the confrontation in his mind’s eye and it involves tall and handsome backing him up against a wall, massive hands skirting up his body and suddenly the both of them are topless—

“Ahem,” the guy coughs and is stood right in front of Chuck. This does nothing for the slight wood Chuck is now trying to hide behind the counter.

“Sorry,” Chuck apologizes, voice a little a higher than normal. He eyes a copy of _Northanger Abbey_ in the guy’s hand. “You want the usual as well?”

Tall and handsome nods. _I really need to find out this guy’s name_.

“Okay, well that’ll be five for the book and three-fifty for the soy vanilla latte.”

Nodding, the guy hands over the exact change and then puts two dollar bills in the tip jar. Chuck gives him a warm smile of thanks. “I’ll bring it right over.”

Out of the corner of his eye as he sorts out the grounds, Chuck watches the guy take the same seat he’s had on previous visits. The number two pencil appears from the confines of the guy’s tan satchel and he opens the book as Chuck works on assembling his latte. The steamer screeches and hisses as he foams up the soya milk, but it doesn’t seem to disturb the guy as he opens up Northanger Abbey and starts to read, tapping the pencil on his table.

Bringing the coffee, soya and vanilla syrup together, Chuck tries to build up the courage to just start some small talk. Anything that’ll at least get him the guy’s name. But as he sets his customer’s drink down, pushing the sugar close and leaving a spoon beside the tall mug, Chuck finds he just can’t do it. So he bolts back behind the register and opens up his laptop.

Running Seraph Books didn’t completely cover Chuck’s bills, so when no one needs him and he doesn’t need to sort out orders or a delivery of books, he works on his novel series he’s been self-publishing for the past few years. It isn’t hundreds of thousands in extra cash, but a few thousand here and there. He doesn’t publish them under his own name, but Chuck isn’t completely ashamed of the urban fantasy series he’s created, just isn’t sure what people would make of all the subtext he’s worked into it.

Working slowly through a couple of paragraphs, Chuck stops when the mid-morning rush starts—all ten people. In between serving other customers and cleaning, he gets tall and handsome another latte and three pots of peppermint tea. Chuck doesn’t get a chance to talk to the guy when there’s a lull before lunch because of a book delivery he needs to shift to a safe place to organize later.

After the lunch rush is gone (fifteen customers), Chuck tidies away a sandwich plate from tall and handsome, then heads over to the books he had delivered earlier. He can’t quite remember what’s in the two crates, but as he sorts through them and puts the new (to the store) books on their shelves, an unfamiliar shadow looms over him as he bends down.

“Need any help?” tall and handsome asks in his light Texan accent, doing that towering over Chuck thing that makes Chuck feel like he wants to be slung over a shoulder and carried into a bedroom.

“Uhhh…” Chuck stares at the guy and tries to figure out what he wants. What he should say and how he should say it, and _is my hair okay? Did I brush my beard this morning?_

The guy reaches down and picks up a book, it’s a 1999 edition of _A Prayer for Owen Meany_. “Where does the Irving go?”

Chuck eases his lips together, takes a breath through his nose and lets it out slowly through his mouth. “Over… in the contemporary fiction section.”

“But it was originally published in 1989?”

“Until Irving passes and has been gone from this Earth for over a quarter of a century, it’s not going into the classics section,” Chuck sasses and gives the guy a massive grin.

Shifting the book to his left hand, tall and handsome holds out his right hand to Chuck. “Sam. Sam Winchester.”

 _Sam?_ Trying to stay calm, Chuck holds Sam’s hand and shakes it, _man he’s strong_. “Chuck. Chuck Shurley.”

Their handshake doesn’t end, Sam’s hand doesn’t leave Chuck’s. Catching something white out of the corner of his eye, Chuck sees a glimpse of white bandage under Sam’s long red flannel sleeves. Sam shifts, leaning towards him and Chuck’s attention is fully drawn to the man’s pink, smooth lips and bangs framing his face and— _oh, OH._

The kiss catches Chuck by surprise. Light and questioning, asking Chuck if it’s okay. Hands still entwined, Chuck gently pulls Sam closer and gives in to the kiss, opening his mouth to Sam and he tastes the tang of the peppermint tea he drank last. Sam’s tongue is firm and warm, sending sparks up Chuck’s spine with every single caress it gives.

A Prayer for Owen Meany thuds to the wooden floor, and Chuck lets Sam push him down amongst his books, climb on top of him and make out like they’re eighteen and don’t care that they’re about to get caught out in a campus library.

The desperation behind every single movement of Sam’s makes a part of Chuck wonder how long the man’s been wanting to do this to him. Sam’s hands stroke his sides as their lips continue being locked together, both of them equally hard and pressing against each other. Hips grinding and legs tangled.

The bell by the door tinkles and Sam releases Chuck’s mouth.

“Sam, you in here?” calls a man’s husky voice.

“Shit,” Sam whispers as he looks at Chuck.

Chuck mouths “who is it?” to Sam and Sam whispers, “Dean.”

“C’mon, Sammy, we need to talk,” Dean calls into the store and cafe. Sam starts getting up and he helps Chuck to his feet. Chuck gets another glimpse of the bandages on Sam’s wrists and he gets a sinking feeling he knows what the bandages are there for.

Dean rounds a corner, leather jacket too much for the heat outside so he’s holding it under his arm. “There you are. Look, can we talk?”

Sam eyes Chuck and then looks back to Dean. “Fine… but not here… Uh, sorry, Chuck. I’ll see you later.” He heads past Dean at speed and grabs his things on the table and pulls it into his bag, but not before he takes a moment to write his phone number down on the table in pencil. “Like I said, we can talk later. Okay, let’s go.”

Half in a daze, Chuck watches as this “Dean” leads Sam out of his store and Chuck hopes that he’ll come back.

***

Glare levelled at Dean, Sam sits with his arms crossed over his chest as Dean drives his ridiculously sized car from where he had been waiting outside Seraph Books. Trust his brother to turn up just as he’s making out with the cute bearded owner he’s wanted to kiss since he first met.

Dean’s hands start drumming on the steering wheel as they stop at a red light. Unlike Sam, Dean’s shirt sleeves are rolled up, the teal fabric contrasting with his lightly tanned arms and freckles. It’s surprisingly quiet in Lawrence for the time of day, though Sam supposes that means they’ve fewer witnesses for the drama that’s going to unfold in the back of the ‘67 Impala. There’s no way that Sam’s going to wait until he’s trapped in Dean’s apartment to have this conversation.

“Here’s the deal, Dean. I am not going back to the hospital. I’m not getting back with Ruby. So don’t worry about me getting near the source of my little breakdown, because I am so over her and everything she stands for. I mean, sure great of you to decide to get involved in my damn life again after I almost kill myself.” Taking a few deep breaths, Sam sinks down beside the window and looks away from Dean, fixing his gaze on the street outside.

The light turns green and Dean pulls away. Sam doesn’t need to look at his brother to know that Dean’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel and that his jaw is ticking as he thinks what to say. Pain building in his wrists from his hands being so taut, Sam tries to relax, but he can’t fully—not while he waits for Dean’s reply, which he just knows is going to sound like Sam just kicked a puppy.

“I’m just… Look, I didn’t know what was happening between the two of you and I feel bad for not realizing it sooner. You seemed so good together.” There’s more regret than hurt in Dean’s voice.

Sam gives a bitter laugh and shakes his head. “Yeah, when she said she loves me, and acted all lovey dovey around you and Lisa. Sure. Sure we seemed good together. But you didn’t see the dirt I just put up with, I was made to believe I had to endure. She took control of everything. And when… when…” Tears are in Sam’s eyes and he doesn’t want to start crying.

“Sam, hey—”

“When I didn’t… didn’t think I could just walk away. I did the only thing I could to get back control.” The tears run down Sam’s face and he just wishes he was back in Seraph Books and with Chuck. These past few days he’d almost felt like his old self again, or a tiny bit like his old self—like before he got together with Ruby and his life turned into some kind of mockery of what it once was.

The next thing Sam knows, Dean’s pulled the car over, the engine’s stopped and he’s hugging Sam. There’s a childhood familiarity to being held in Dean’s arms and Sam sinks against Dean, unable to stop crying. _I can’t believe it got that far_ , Sam admonishes himself. What he’d had with Ruby was something that had turned twisted and horrible until it was too late for him to think his way out of what happened.

Each time Sam had come to understand that things weren’t… healthy between Ruby and himself, he’d tried to change things. Tried to get Ruby to understand, but she’d blamed him. Said it was his fault and Sam would deny it, for as long as possible, he would say it’s not his fault. But Ruby’s words would slowly twist and warp Sam’s memories of the things that had happened and convince him that it really was his fault.

But this time Sam hadn’t gone to Ruby—he’d moved to take himself right out of the equation.

Clearing his throat, Sam looks Dean in the eyes, even though it pains him to do it. There’s no hiding the sadness lurking there in his brother’s green eyes. “I’m not going back to her. Do you understand? She is not a part of my life anymore.”

“What about… the,” Dean motions towards Sam’s wrists. “You need… y’know?”

“I’m not going back on that ward. I’ll see a psychiatrist or go to some kind of support group for people who’ve been in abusive relationships. I don’t need to be under constant watch. I just need to be away from _her_.” Sam draws in a deep breath and slowly lets it out.

Hugging him a little tighter, Dean sighs. “Okay, Sammy. But you’re not staying out in that motel another night. We’ll get your things. I got a spare room. I’ll get your stuff from, y’know’s later this week, and you can move in with me until you’re on your feet again.”

“How’d you find me anyway?”

“I have my ways.”

Eventually Sam’s calm enough for Dean to drive. They get his stuff from the motel he’d been staying at since skipping out on the hospital he’d been taken to. Dean smoothed things over with local law enforcement once he’d found Sam, helped by being friends with people in the police department.

After a few beers and some pizza back at Dean’s place, Sam has gone to the spare bedroom and settled down on the bed, atop the blue sheets in the white walled room. He hasn’t checked his cell since leaving Seraph Books, but now he pulls it out from his satchel and sees that he has one new text message. It isn’t the cell he’d left back at Ruby’s, but a new one he’s picked up after breaking into the home he shared with Ruby and taking what he could carry of his own things. Like his wallet and some clothes—nothing much, but enough.

A part of Sam knew that rebound relationships are possibly not the best thing for him right now, but the moment he’d laid eyes on Chuck, he’d had a feeling—a pull somewhere around his navel—he’d not felt in a long time. Not since Jess and she had been his first proper girlfriend. Brady, his first boyfriend hadn’t quite woken the same feeling inside of Sam and neither had Ruby.

But Chuck? There is definitely something there and so Sam checks the message from Chuck and can’t help smiling at it:

_< Unknown Number>: I don’t normally let customers write on the tables, but for you I’ll make an exception. This is Chuck Shurely, the barista-bookstore owner. Short dude who likes to kiss tall guys._

Sam adds Chuck’s number to his contacts list and starts his reply. It takes a few attempts, but finally he sends one:

_Sam: I figured that at least if I do it in pencil, then the owner wouldn’t mind so much. I’m not banned from coming in again, am I?_

_Chuck: I don’t mind and would be concerned if you didn’t drop by tomorrow. Though maybe we could go out somewhere after closing?_

It’s not even like going out somewhere with Chuck would be moving fast at this point. He’d felt how hard Chuck had gotten earlier, felt it press against his own hardness. Heading out somewhere for a drink or some food would be dialing it back a notch. If he went and told Dean right now what had happened back in Chuck’s store, he’d probably freak out and tell Sam he is in no state to be getting close and personal with anyone right now. So he isn’t going to tell Dean yet, he’s going to keep the whole thing between him and Chuck just between the two of them.

_Sam: Sure. Maybe not more coffee. How about that steakhouse a couple of blocks over?_

The reply is almost instantaneous:

_Chuck: Sounds good. And you’re probably right about the coffee._

_Sam: Yesterday you had five cups in the morning alone._

_Chuck: You were keeping count?_

_Sam: Well clearly someone has to._

_Chuck: I’ve managed more than that for most of my adult life. I am 90% caffeine at this point._

_Sam: Do you ever sleep?_

_Chuck: Sleep is for the weak. This way I get to write a lot when I’m not busy making coffee and selling books._

_Sam: You write? You got anything published? Anything I know?_

The wait for Chuck’s reply stretches out and Sam’s worried he’s pressed too much already. That maybe Chuck is embarrassed about his writing and would rather that Sam didn’t know about it in depth. Suddenly his cell buzzes in his hands and he looks at the screen.

_Chuck: They’re all self-published on Amazon the “Supernatural” series by Carver Edlund - it’s my pen name._

It doesn’t take Sam long to find the books via his cell. He buys the first one, titled “Supernatural” and then texts Chuck:

_Sam: I’m reading the first one now. I’ll give you my report in the morning._

Chuck’s reply is fast:

_Chuck: Oh god… Well, don’t stay up too late. My coffee can only do so much._

***

Seraph Books has been open for ten minutes and Chuck has served one customer who wanted a copy of the complete _Forever Wars_ collection and a triple espresso. Now he’s stood by the espresso machine, checking he has enough takeaway cups and regular cups ready for the morning. Walking over to the register, he opens it and checks how much change he’s got and finds he has enough. He’s just going through the motions now, waiting for Sam to show up.

The books Chuck had been distracted from putting away yesterday are all sorted now, including a rare find that the estate seller he’d bought from didn’t know they had. A signed, first edition hardback of Stephen King’s _Insomnia_. Chuck could ask $300 for that, easy. That book wasn’t out on the shelves as he normally displayed most of his stock, instead it was in a locked cabinet in a prime part of the store, along with other highly prized first editions.

Chuck’s just refilling some sugar pots when the store door opens and Sam walks in. There’s a massive grin on Sam’s face, so Chuck’s pretty sure that reading _Supernatural_ did not scare the guy off. Still, he can’t help wondering about the slip of white bandages that peek out from under the sleeves of Sam’s blue plaid shirt as he removes his jacket.

“Can I get a soy vanilla latte, please?” Sam asks, smiling at Chuck.

“Sure thing… you not buying any books today then?” Chuck grabs a tall mug and begins on Sam’s latte.

“Funny thing, I’ve been reading this riveting book by some dude called Carver Edlund. It’s called “Supernatural”. Have you heard of it?”

Espresso machine steaming and hissing, Chuck makes Sam’s latte as they start a conversation about his books. Normally Chuck can’t talk to anyone about his writing; the few interviews he’s given over the past two years have been all by email. But there’s a little cult following for what he’s putting out and two publishers have shown interest. He explains how the books’ protagonists, two sisters, Charlie and Jo Bradbury, are based on some friends he grew up with.

Sam reads “Wendigo” when Chuck is serving other customers, talks to Chuck about writing and his business. About growing up in a huge family back in New York and how he tries to avoid them as much as possible.

A lull in the afternoon brings Chuck pondering the dressings on Sam’s wrists. He doesn’t want to ask about them, but he can’t help wondering about it, mind working through half a dozen reasons on why this bright, brilliant man is in his cafe after coming so close to death. He doesn’t want to know, but the reasons that he conjures are sad and confusing. The loss of a family member. Insecurities about his sexuality. Crippling debt. Failing at college. Anxieties about himself that surfaced during a low period and convinced him he’s worthless and the world better off without him.

“You keep staring at my wrists,” states Sam as he sits opposite Chuck.

They both have cups of peppermint tea and Chuck looks at his now, trying to figure out what to say. Chuck glances up and looks Sam in the eye. “Why did you… y’know… try to kill yourself?”

Sam grimaces and takes a sip of his tea. He sighs and returns Chuck’s gaze. “Because I didn’t know how else to get away.”

“From who or what?” Chuck doesn’t realize it, but he’s tensed his right hand into a fist.

“My ex.” There’s a hollowness to Sam’s eyes, he seems distant and far away.

Chuck gets up from his seat and goes over to Sam, he leans over him and hugs him. “Hey, don’t worry about it. You’re here now and we’re going to go and get steaks in an hour and I’m going to embarrass myself, because it’s karaoke tonight.”

“Can I tell you something else, please?” Sam asks in a whisper.

 _He’s not had the chance to really talk to anyone yet,_ Chuck realizes. Holding Sam a little tighter, Chuck nods. “Of course.”

“She would… force herself on me… When my guard was down. Like when I was asleep. Tell me when I woke up that if I loved her, I’d let her continue. She treated me like some kind of sex object. And I believed she was worth staying with, while she kept doing that to me. That you gotta take a little dirt to stay in a relationship. But I couldn’t see it wasn’t normal. Until one night and… and…” Sam starts crying on Chuck’s shoulder.

Rubbing at Sam’s back, Chuck just lets him cry as he somehow ends up sat on Sam’s lap. No customers come in while he comforts the giant of a man, who has never seemed so small, but Chuck doesn’t care. He doesn’t think any less of Sam for what he’s endured.

When Sam’s sobs die down a bit, Chuck gives him a napkin and says, “Sounds like you were gaslighted.”

Sniffing for a moment, Sam finally asks, “What’s that?”

“I got a few relationship books that talk about it, I’ll give you one.” Chuck brushes Sam’s bangs out of his face. “Do you still want to go out to the steakhouse?”

“ _Yes._ ”

Chuck leans in and kisses Sam on his cheek, tasting the salt of his tears. “Just please understand, none of this was ever your fault.”

Sam nods. “I’ll try to,” he says, voice tight from crying.

Changing topic quickly after that as he sets about getting ready to close up for the day, Chuck tries not to dwell on what Sam’s said. He’s going to treat Sam well, help give him a normal night out.

***

Texting Dean to let him know that he’s still heading out that evening, Sam follows Chuck as they walk to the steak house. There’s no point in him leading, Chuck would struggle to keep up with his normal stride.

It’s a pleasant enough walk now that the heat of the day is starting to dissipate, though Sam’s looking forward to being in the air conditioned space of the steakhouse. For a while, he thought Chuck was going to say that something had come up and that he needed to postpone, after he’d been sobbing into his shoulder, but no such thing had happened. Chuck had made no assumptions about him as a person, just that it wasn’t his fault.

Chuck is the first person to tell him that and it means a great deal to Sam. It had been tough talking to Dean about things and there were still aspects of what happened that he hadn’t told his brother about. Dean had tried to be understanding, but he’d never seen the side of Ruby that had gotten to Sam so badly. Though he’d had his suspicions a few times since they started going out that not everything was quite alright, he’d never been sure how to approach Sam about it—he’d said as much to Sam.

The steakhouse is calm and cool, and Sam is happy for Chuck to do the talking with the staff as they get a table. It’s quite modern looking inside, not rustic. All smooth surfaces and strategic lighting. Reds and browns for the walls, and the furniture tending towards black lacquer.

“Why not two brothers?” Sam asks, breaking the silence since they were brought their beers.

“Sorry, what?” Chuck puts his beer down and looks at Sam, confused.

Shrugging, Sam asks again, “Why not two brothers in Supernatural? Why sisters?”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sam, Chuck takes a sip of his beer, foam gathering on his beard. “Just, the friends I based them on were a big part of my life. And the kind of people who got into all sorts of trouble and still got through, eventually. Just I swapped avoiding unwanted pregnancy with chasing down ghosts and Wendigos.”

“You got a little something.” Sam points at Chuck’s top lip. “Just there.”

Chuck wipes the foam away. “So that’s why it’s two sisters.”

“Your friends must have been quite something.”

There’s a faraway look in Chuck’s eyes. “Yeah, they were.”

“Chuck…” Sam reaches out across the table and holds Chuck’s right hand in both of his. “I’m sorry.”

The writer ducks his head a little. “It’s fine. The books are my way of honoring them.”

Sam doesn’t ask for more details than that and allows Chuck to steer the conversation again. Talking favorite books and TV shows as they work their way through two medium rare steaks, corn, mash potato and green beans. It’s filling, but Sam still has the energy for two songs during the karaoke night that starts up at the steakhouse’s bar.

The date is the first good night out that Sam’s had in a long time, so good that Chuck has to give him a lift back to Dean’s apartment. Reaching the apartment, Sam’s about to give Chuck a kiss good night when he sees a familiar head of dark, long brown hair lit under the entrance to the apartment building.

“Shit.”

Chuck looks over to where Sam’s looking. “Is that… her?”

Getting out of Chuck’s car, Sam isn’t putting up with this. He’s scared to approach Ruby, but he can’t have her trying to run his life anymore. He hears Chuck’s door slam behind him, but he keeps on powering up to Ruby.

“Sam, I—” Ruby starts, turning to face Sam as he heads towards her.

“Leave,” Sam snarls, heart tight in his chest. He feels lightheaded being near her again, but what affection he once felt is near enough completely gone now.

“Look, I just came to talk.” Ruby gives him a smile that would look friendly on anyone but his ex.

“Don’t care. Dean’s gonna come round for my things tomorrow.”

“Everything okay Sam?” Chuck reaches Sam’s side and he feels bolstered by the presence of this man who was a complete stranger until this week.

“Yeah, Ruby was just leaving.” Sam draws himself up to his full height. He might be more physically intimidating than Ruby, but the problem was always that she could get inside his head. Make her demands seem like they fit in the natural order of things. _Well not any fucking more._

“And who’s this? Already got yourself a new boyfriend, Sam? Wow, you moved on quickly. What’d he do? Suck your dick just like you—”

“I SAID LEAVE.” Sam’s face is burning now, years of anger bubbling to the surface.

“You’ll just put out for anyon—”

Chuck steps between Ruby and Sam, like he’s trying to protect his new friend. “I don’t know what makes you think you have a right to talk to Sam like that, but you have no such right. Do as he asks and leave. Dean _and_ I will be around tomorrow to get his things. Go,” Chuck orders and Sam doesn’t remember the last time someone stood up for him like that.

Glaring at both of them, Ruby storms off without another word and disappears down the street to wherever she parked her car. Sam turns Chuck around and before he can say anything, pulls him into a hug.

“Thank you,” Sam says into Chuck’s curly hair. “Thank you.”

Shakes are starting to work their way through Chuck. “I can’t believe I just did that.”

Pulling away from Chuck, Sam stares down into his eyes and smiles. “Well you just did it.”

“I couldn’t stand the way she was talking to you. No one should talk to anyone like that.” Chuck lets out a long breath and starts to untense.

“You’re really gonna help Dean?”

Chuck bites his bottom lip a little, clearly nervous. “If that’s okay?”

Sweeping Chuck up into his arms, Sam kisses the smaller man, soft and lovingly. His beard scratches his face, but it feels good. Chuck gently strokes Sam’s back as they kiss until they need to catch their breath.

“Okay, well… I’ll ask Kevin to cover for me tomorrow. I’ll swing by around eight thirty?”

“Yeah, sure.” Sam leans down and gives Chuck a kiss on his left cheek. “Thank you.”

Chuck smiles warmly at Sam and heads off. Less than twelve hours later, Chuck’s back and ready to help.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this. Kudos welcome and I will endeavor to answer all comments.
> 
> You can follow me on Tumblr at [dreamsfromthebunker](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can find this fic on Tumblr [here](http://dreamsfromthebunker.tumblr.com/post/149701718920/tall-and-handsome).


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